


Devil's Wedding

by WolfMothar



Category: John Wick (Movies), Polar (2019), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dogs, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Ineptitude, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gunshot Wounds, Infatuation, Mentor/Protégé, Multi, People have Problems, People need help, People will wait until it passes, Reader is non-binary, Reader-Insert, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfMothar/pseuds/WolfMothar
Summary: Digging blood from your nose, your family and friends had said.Don’t dare your open house for the sinners.They will destroy you._In which you are a bartender in a bar that becomes popular in the local vigilante/hitman community.Now you have to patch wounds and serve some people who operate in some dark professions.But as it would seem your past catches up with you.





	1. Tastes of White Russian and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta read, at all.

Digging blood from your nose, your family and friends had said.

 

Don’t dare your open house for the sinners.

 

They will destroy you.

 

~

 

It all started with one gentleman coming to your newly opened bar. He was meticulously groomed and dressed in a suit. Not your ordinary clientele of crunch workers, drunkards and few teens with fake IDs. 

 

But the thing is, he took two steps in the door and crashed with the ground. That made you worried, but it was Friday. People drank. So, of course, you went to help the poor man.

 

And the man was bleeding from his side, quite a lot. Your face scrunched up in disgust as it seeped to your nice apron. You knew you shouldn’t have worn it in a place as lowly as this if you can say so yourself. But it is fulfilling its intended purpose. 

 

You drag the bleeding man to the backroom and hope that you can stitch him up right.

 

~

 

It does not take you long to take care of the man’s wounds and make it look decent. Now, after the stress of worrying about a man dying on you has worn off, you finally get a good look at him.

 

And he does not look bad at all. Sculpted face framed by a black well kept beard and few bruises around his face. He’s pretty tall and on the lankier side, but still clearly strong.

 

Slowly the man starts to get back his brain cells and he takes in your appearance: A person on the shorter side, dressed in a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up and tattoos covering those arms. Short hair, piercings, and royal blue lipstick... 

 

A baby pink canvas apron with cute round kittens printed on it. Now bloodied.

 

“Glad you’re awake, I was pretty damn worried about you, Sir.” You do not seem hostile to him. Rather kind actually. Snarky, but fine.

 

“Do you want water, or something stronger?” The question is asked with a smile, one that does not show bad intentions. So he thinks. No, he knows. He’s patched up and he remembers stumbling into the bar Winston had said is an allied ground, but neutral.

 

“Whiskey, please.” His voice is hoarse.

 

You give him a small smile and turn, as you do you quip;

 

“I’ll bring you both.”

~

 

That was the beginning, for he wasn’t the last vigilante to stumble through those doors.


	2. Mint Vodka with Lemons and Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You bond with the strange man who hit your bar floor.

“So, do you have a name, Sir?” You asked as you handed him the whiskey he had asked.

 

He looked into the drink for a moment, thoughtful. He drank it all down at once.

 

“John.”

 

“Okay, Sir John, any reason you came to my lowly abode?” You bowed playfully at him. He smirked a little at it.

 

“You had a sign on the window, green background, white cross. And my friend recommended the place.”

 

“Ah yes, that one, good thing, it seems to be.” 

 

An indistinct yell came from the bar. Then a tense moment of silence between the two of you. Your eyes met each other, worry could be felt. You went to a locker and took a shotgun out of it.

 

John was quite impressed.

 

Then you silently slipped out of the room.

 

Seconds stretched without anything happening.  
They felt like hours.

 

The door opened and you came in back. Totally calm and shotgun resting against your shoulder. His dog hot on your heels. 

 

The Dog runs to John’s feet and presses against him, whining. His dog has a cute and goofy smile on its face.

 

“He’s a smart dog” You say, and he has to agree. 

 

“Does he have a name?”

 

“No, I call him Dog.”

 

“Why not call him dog in some other language, you wouldn’t sound so stupid then.”

 

“Like perro?”

 

Your face scrunches up. “There are so many spanish speaking people in States, and you can’t pronounce it. Koira? Hund?”

 

The dog looks at you with with a silly smile.

 

“How about Happy?”

 

He looks off to the distance, then nods with a smirk. He buttons up the shirt back up. John rises up with a grunt, and starts to walk towards the bar. You follow after him with the glass. 

 

The atmosphere changes drastically, from bright, professional and clinical, to warm, dark and homely. Your mood changes with the light. You go back to your working mode.

 

You direct him to the the bar seats and ask him what he wants to drink. It’s whiskey again. 

 

“Was it a job gone wrong?” You ask him.

 

“No, just some speed bumps on the round?”

 

“Literally or figuratively?”

 

His laughter comes from the pit of his belly and it makes you tense for a second before smiling with him.

 

“I can look after your dog when you go out on jobs, if you want?” You suggest, after he has calmed down.

 

“Yes, that would be kind of you.”


	3. Boilermaker and Frozen Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New man comes into the scene (and Happy is not happy.)

You got into a good rhythm with John. You would open the backdoor for him, greet him and let his dog in. Then he went with the wind to do his job. 

 

You’d keep the dog behind the bar for the first few times, but you soon set a dog bed next to the vestibule, so Happy could guard and keep an eye on people as they went. 

 

~

 

One evening a man came in with a baseball cap and hood over it. Happy had raised his head and kept his eyes glued to him. Happy got more agitated as he settled into a booth.

 

The dog glanced at you for guidance, you smiled softly at him and raised your hand to calm him down. 

 

You got off from behind the bar and went to serve the mysterious man. 

 

He was so deep in thought, that he didn’t even notice you coming behind him until you cleared your throat. His forefinger twitched momentarily, so small motion, but you caught him. ‘So he’s trigger happy...’ You thought.

 

“Hasn’t the sunset hours ago, sir?” You remarked.

 

He looks at you from behind his the brim of his cap. You see his face finally. He has a wide nose and dark, almost black eyes. His face is mapped with cuts and bruises. He has almost gentle gaze, but he’s wary. His jaw is set hard and covered with 5 o’clock shadow.

 

“S’pose it has.” The man’s voice is low and dry like he hasn’t drunk in a while. He pops a salted nut into his mouth from the half-full bowl on the table next to utensil and sauce rack.

 

“Anything to drink, sir? Haven’t seen you here before.”

 

“Beer with a shot of whiskey.” He plays with his fingernails.

 

“Anything for the face?” You inquire.

 

He looks at you again. And smirks almost unnoticeably.

 

“Something cold, if you would.”

 

“Coming right up.” You give him a wide smile and travel to your bar, but not before getting Happy with you.

 

~

 

John comes soon after, making Happy bark gleefully. The man from the booth glances at the commotion and his eyes meet with John’s. They nod at each other firmly and turn away. 

 

You exchange pleasantries with the finely clad man and go to serve the drink and a wrapped up cold bag. The air is tense between the two men but you fail to notice.

 

~

 

The man left a note for you, you notice when you are closing up the bar. 

 

It has his number and a message.

 

‘Be careful around him’


	4. Vodka or Vinegar?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You discuss things with John when an old face comes back from long ago.

“Hey, John?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You remember this guy from like a week ago, who came in with a baseball cap?”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Not the MAGA guy, he didn’t even really get in.”

 

“That is true, so you mean the other guy?”

 

“Yeah, he left me some weird ass cryptic note and bloody money, but not like the British way. Just like money that has blood on it.”

 

“I do remember the guy from before…”

 

“You fucked?”

 

“No, we didn’t fuck! We almost killed each other!”

 

“And then had some aggressive hate sex?”

 

“What is it with you and my sex life?”

 

“The fact that you don’t have one.”

 

“Why are we talking about this?”

 

“Because, as one wise one said before, ‘It is alright to spill the tea, but the tea can stain if not spilled carefully’.”

 

“And how does that relate?”

 

“You’ve met this guy before. You have history, but there’s something you’re not telling me.”

 

“You know my profession, there are things that I cannot tell you.”

 

 

“So you want me to live in ‘the blissful ignorance’.”

 

 

“No, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“I could get killed, John.”

 

John’s face turned grim, a deep scowl crept onto his face. He looked at you with his dark opal eyes.

 

The bell on the door clung, indicating a customer. But you had closed hours ago. Both of you snapped out of the state you were in. You raised to get out of the backroom you and your friend had taken residence in. John was as tense as a drawn bow. You put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him. His muscles are as hard as stone. 

 

You go out first, against John's wishes. At the door, you spot a familiar figure from long ago. He is dressed in a trench coat and he has an eye pad over his left eye.

 

 

“Duncan…?” You ask, more to yourself to be honest.

 

“Duncan Vizla?” Asks John next to you. “The Black Keiser?”

 

You nod, solemnly.

 

Duncan seems normal, but you can notice his nervous ticks.

 

“What do you want, Sir?”

 

He seems taken aback by your cold tone for a split second. Then he sighs.

 

“I need to call in that favor, имбирный пряник.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait here I return


	5. Vodka from Sippy Cup.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You figure out what Duncan is after, but the evening is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be going to London with my girlfriend, so I probably will put out more chapter when I come back.

“I don’t have the turrets anymore if that’s what you mean.”

 

John behind you lets out a cough. Indicating that you two will talk about it.

 

 

“No, I didn’t come for them. But I do need a room for the night.” Duncan says as he takes a step towards you.

 

You sigh and walk back behind the bar counter. Duncan takes a seat and John seems to follow in suit. You lay your hands on the counter and lean towards The Keiser.

 

 

“You’re a big fucking bastard and I hate you, but if you will pay to me I will have the room for you.” You raise to take a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses. “But still, welcome home, deadweight.”

 

“Says the one who’s ass I have had to save too many times.” He smirks into his drink.

 

“How do you know people like these, Boss?” John asks. Your name tag says just ‘Boss’. It’s partly for a joke, partly to keep your life private.

 

“I’ve worked for many kinds of people, your friend Winston being one of them, John.” You give him a wink. A little bit of blood rises to his cheeks and he looks away for a while.

 

The doorbell clangs second time this evening and both men have their pistols pointed to the door in a millisecond.

 

 

The man freezes at the door and slowly raises his hands up. It’s the man with a bruised face.

 

 

“I thought you were open, you had lights on.” His voice is slow and the guns get holstered.

 

“Come in, we have a bottle of vodka open.” You beckon him inside. 

 

 

He comes cautiously and takes a seat next to Duncan.

 

“Do you have a name, sir?” You ask him with a smile. Both men to his right have their ears strained to hear his name, even if they do not openly express any interest.

 

 

“Frank, Frank Castle.” His attention is on your Molang bunny apron, as his eyes trace the white, fat and cute rabbits printed on it.

 

 

Your eyebrows raise slowly as a small smile creeps to your face. 

 

 

“As in Frank ‘The Punisher’ Castle.” You chuckle, “More the merrier I guess.”

 

“Well then, what brings you here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all these men (actors) are (going to be) in videogames? In about the same year? What?
> 
>  
> 
> Keanu.R - Cyberpunk 2077
> 
> Mads.M - Death Stranding
> 
> Jon.B -Ghost Recon: Wildlands/Breakpoint
> 
>  
> 
> My thirst is at 100% 
> 
> I will legit die.


	6. Cranberry Gin and Melatonin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has no actual content just feelings.

As the weeks went by, you grew used to the long after hours of keeping company to hitmen, vigilantes, and murderers. 

 

 

Got used to the endless stitching and bandaging wounds and pulling out bullets.

 

 

 

"I fear that one day, the blood will not be of recovery and health, but of death that I could not prevent." You said that one night after way too many shots.

 

 

You, John, Duncan, and Frank had made a ritual of drinking on the evening of every other Friday. You rarely drank even then, but sometimes letting go felt so good, even if it tasted bitter as all hell let loose. 

 

 

The men you were with had grown on you so. You just felt like you could not keep on the kind of leash you wanted. It would be wrong to cage a bird of prey. 

 

 

 

Their reactions were blurred in your drunken and tired mind. The shoulder felt good to lean on and the body heat made you so fatigued. 

 

 

 

You passed out in that booth and none of them even noticed, before they got into a small drunken argument and went to ask for your opinion. 

 

 

 

John had smiled at you from across the table, as you be almost mushed between Frank and Duncan as a buffer. He almost spent more time at Devil’s Wedding as he did at the Continental. 

 

 

 

At first, Winston had been a bit worried about his old friend, but it soon turned into teasing curiosity as he tried to pry information out of the silent assassin. The hitman denied any accusations of the relationship between you two being anything other than entirely platonic. 

 

 

 

But as time went by, John started to question his intentions with you. 

 

 

 

He loved the way you smiled as you played with his dog, Happy, as you had named him. He loved the carefree attitude that you filled the entire bar with. Your gentle hands as they worked to stitch and bandage his wounds. The curses and little playful insults you threw one way and another. 

 

 

 

But he always rationalized it as just caring about you as a close friend.

 

 

 

Frank raised from the booth as he went to scoop up. You were light in his arms as you peacefully slumbered the day away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's your favorite, who do you want to rail? I don't know how to write for Duncan and Frank, but I will dedicate some upcoming chapters for them.


	7. Rum and Cocaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Frank centric this time.

“Why do you have ‘Slaw Squat™’ in the drink menu?” Frank asked you one evening. It was few weeks after the last drink out, you quite never lived that down. Bartender that was light weight, like a cook who couldn’t taste. 

 

 

You looked over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow, from where you were arranging the bottles. “Um, because it’s my bar, dude. What do you want me to say?”

 

 

 

He put his face into his hands and sighed. That’s not what he meant.

 

 

 

“Boy tried to say, what does it mean.” Duncan cleared.

 

 

 

John coughed into his drink, he was clearly enjoying the show. He remembers asking that same thing while ago, when it first came into the menu. He quietly chuckled as he drank the rest of his rum-coke. 

 

 

 

“Do you want an explanation or demonstration, Frank?” You asked him with a sly smirk that could only ever meant trouble. 

 

 

You took a bottle of pure Russian vodka from the drink cabinet and uncorked it. Pouring some of it into a small jug, you sloshed it around for a while. Then you looked back at Frank.

 

 

 

“Kneel.” That was your only order. He gulped inaudibly, giving a glance at the two other men.

 

 

 

It was a choice between two evils, there was no time to choose. He knelt down and looked at you for guidance. Your smile hadn’t died down, no it was even wider than before.

 

 

 

“Open your mouth, Frank.” You commanded with a sing-song voice.

 

 

 

And he did, how sweet he looked like that. 

 

 

 

Duncan was flabbergasted, to put it lightly. Even if it was somewhat erotic, the show you two put on. John’s smile had died down somewhat as he looked on. This feeling inside him, it wasn’t quite jealousy or arousal. But it was something. Something he didn’t dare to name. 

 

Then you poured, the clear liquid a thin line as it dripped from the nose all the way to Frank's mouth. It was hypnotizing, watching as you served most exotic drink yet. But all that is good comes to an end and the vodka you poured like the Godz did with ambrosia, drizzled down.

 

 

The room you had for yourselves was quiet, yet you broke that trance-like silence.

 

 

“That would be five bucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you guys want Duncan as romantic or platonic, maybe brotherly?


	8. Margaritas made from Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for being inactive for a month, school just started and now I finally felt like I could write this.

“When will you drag me back into the abyss?”

 

 

 

Duncan always understood it when you said that, he knew your fears more clearly than you could ever explain.

 

 

You had built something for yourself, you had bleached your hands from your past.

 

 

 

He had watched you grow from a stubborn teenager to a hard-headed murderer. 

 

 

 

He was your mentor.

 

 

 

But then you had grown more. You weren’t that easy to annoy kid or that aggressive killer. Not anymore.

 

 

 

Well, you were, deep down where you would not let anyone in. 

 

 

 

He knew you had gotten smart, diplomatic, and loyal. Probably to a fault.

 

 

 

He got more easily mad at you nowadays, not that he ever wanted to. 

 

 

He cared for you, even admired that you had gotten your head on the surface. Most drowned in the blood they drained from others. 

 

 

 

He was jealous, you had done what he tried to do for years and you lived to tell the tale. 

 

 

 

When he got jealous, he got angry.

 

 

 

 

You knew his anger, he hadn’t changed that much. Not as much as you had. You knew him.

 

 

So whenever he was angry, it was a tick in the jaw, strictly controlled heavy breathing and total silence. 

 

 

 

His rage was isolation. Into a corner. 

 

 

Like a wounded animal he sought solace in his isolation. 

 

 

Melancholic. 

 

 

 

He wasn’t aggressive like you, he prided himself. 

 

 

 

He taunted you like that when you were young. 

 

 

 

You tried to become perfection.

 

 

 

But your wrath and pride were obstacles to overcome. 

 

 

You hadn’t gotten over them, not then. But now you had climbed them, without HIS help. 

 

 

You had found other ways, your own path from the depths. 

 

 

 

And you didn’t need him, not like he needed you.

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments about where I should be heading next, whos your favorite.


	9. Ice Water for the Headache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You release some of your rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno man where this is gonna go. but whatever it is, don't expect to be fulfilled in any way.

“So, how did we end up here?”

 

 

 

“Maybe you should not ask why, idiot. You´re no pantheon of morality.” You answered to Frank´s question.

 

 

“Point taken.”

 

 

The man that laid before you two was beaten bloody and bruised. By you. He was barely breathing, still alive, but just so. It was hard to feel remorseful towards guys like these.

 

 

 

 

He had been beating a dog in an alleyway when you were running to get stock of the items needed for the evening. 

 

 

 

You´d almost run past the alleyway had it not been for a pained growl and whimper.

 

 

When your eyes connected with the man´s and then with the puppy, you saw red.

 

 

You had grabbed him by the collar of his duster and thrown him against the opposing wall. He had tried to raise up, but your fist connected with his nose before he could do anything. 

 

 

You could have left it at that, but you did not. Only when Frank dragged you off the man, had you stopped. 

 

 

Your breathing unstable, you looked at Frank. His eyes dark but not condescending. Soft, kind and warm. Then your tears fell. He had hushed you and brushed them off. 

 

 

The next time you looked at him, your lips landed on his. 

 

 

It wasn´t deep, almost a butterfly landing on his lips. Then you pulled away.

**Author's Note:**

> Please share thoughts and ideas going forward and tell me if you like this.


End file.
